Dependency
by Amelia-Maria
Summary: Yusuke has those moments when he wants everyone, including Kurama, to stop looking at him for answers. Rated T for possible swearing. Awful summary.


Amelia here. So between classes a few days ago, I was in the mood for writing a scene where Yusuke pretty much loses it. Pretty much. I love the friendship that goes on between he and Kurama, so I've decided to experiment with that for a while. Give me an idea for another pairing involving Yusuke and I'll try to blurb something for you. Yaaaaay.

Disclaimer: Zees aneemay? Not mine. Yu Yu Hakusho belongs to somebody else. Yep yep.

Read and review, por favor!

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Sometimes, when he got frustrated, it took all he had to keep from crying. He was just that sort of guy – the person who everyone depends on for some twisted, pathetic form of guidance when it was obvious that he was just a damn _kid_. Fifteen years old, and a world of complete bull was forced onto his shoulders. Most of the time, he couldn't argue against it all; sometimes it felt good to have people _want_ his help, rather than shrink away from the sound of his voice. He loved the attention.

Yet, sometimes, he couldn't stand it – the flicker of glances in his direction when they were all faced with something bigger than they could handle. He loathed the dependency that was almost tangible in the air. And when he found himself alone, he felt safe enough to let himself go. It felt good, too.

So there sat the dark-haired human boy – not a Spirit Detective, because that title was only saved for when people needed him around. He was splayed across the grassy hillside that rose a bit above the city, high enough that he could see the tips of buildings glinting in the waning light of the sun. His legs were stretched out in front of him, parted just enough that his hands could lie in-between and play idly with the strands of foliage in front of him. And he was crying.

Of course, it could've been deciphered that the gentle breeze was causing him to rock, and he clenched at the grass only to keep himself rooted to the earth, but that would be a lie.

The boy hiccupped softly, bowing his head to that human emotion known as Frustration. His sobs were muted, caught in his chest and never allowed to pour out. Someone might hear him.

"Yusuke…?"

At the hesitant sound of his name, Yusuke's eyes darted up long enough to put a name to the gentle alto of the familiar voice and long, scarlet hair pulled back with a rubberband. Then, his eyes clouded over with tears once more, and he let his body slouch. His fingers dug against the grass, searching for something to rip, or shred with his nails. He had to break something.

"Should I leave you alone, Yusuke?" the redhead asked in a tone so damn _caring_ that Yusuke had to fight to keep a particularly harsh sob in his throat. "Do you not want me here?"

"St…" Yusuke keened softly, "Stop _asking_ me questions." It was such a childish whine, Kurama thought.

"You don't want to give any answers right now." It was a statement, but the tone was still careful and concerned. Yusuke choked on a whimper. "You want to just cry for a while."

"Don't analyze me," the boy hissed, the grass in his hands squeaking as they broke in his grip. Kurama's face was devoid of any expression, regardless of what his voice implied.

"Well, I can't do much else, Yusuke." Now the tone was slightly dejected, "If you won't answer my questions, then I have to make a conclusion somehow."

"Do it in your head." He was dismissing that dependency.

"Not aloud?"

"Stop asking _questions_."

Kurama kneeled in the grass, feeling the cool earth through the fabric of his jeans. He was glad he'd worn them; with the sun setting, the air was chilled with the promise of dying trees and glowing snow. "Yusuke, look at me," came the redhead's murmur.

Yusuke refused.

"_Look_ at me. I'm not analyzing you."

Slowly, Yusuke inched his blurred gaze upwards until they grudgingly fastened themselves on Kurama's for the briefest of moments, then tore away. He was too close; the damn fox demon was too close. Kurama had leaned forward onto his hands like a curious feline, the soft waterfall of his hair gliding over his shoulder as he tilted his head to the side.

"Yusuke, you can be read so easily."

"You said you weren't an-"

"I'm not," Kurama interrupted him gently. "I'm merely stating a fact. Look, you've stopped crying."

Yusuke looked surprised for a brief moment, his reddish-brown eyes widened. Then, he relaxed, and sniffled plaintively. "Only because you're talking to me," he muttered. Kurama's chuckle seemed to warm the air between them. "Stop laughing."

"I suppose it gets difficult from time to time, trying to make choices by yourself," the redhead said patiently. His nose tickled Yusuke's cheek in a brief, animalistic form of affection that left the human boy sitting stock-still. He was sure that he was imagining it, but Kurama sounded as if he were _purring_ faintly. Like an animal – like a _fox_. Yusuke sniffled again, and dropped his gaze to the ground, shifting restlessly when Kurama's cheek brushed over his own, smearing the tear tracks there.

"You don' gotta do this, Kurama," the boy said unhappily, as if trying to ignore the fox demon's instinct to comfort him, like he were his young.

"You're right, I don't," the redhead murmured, resting his cheek lightly against the coolness of Yusuke's temple. "But I think it's about time you let yourself depend on someone. I will admit that the Spirit World can sometimes be very tough on a fourteen-year-old boy."

"I'm fifteen." It was a correction emphasized by a pout. Kurama smiled.

"I apologize. _Fifteen_. Yusuke, leave the grass be. It's done nothing to you." The redhead shifted until he was kneeling again in the space between Yusuke's legs. "You're an excellent leader, and I understand that making so many important decisions can be a bit much, but you must remember that you have a team to fall back on."

"I never asked to be the leader," Yusuke ground out.

"So we will work as a team, then, as we were assigned to be. No one will be the leader."

"… But then we'd die," came Yusuke's somewhat sarcastic reply. The redhead laughed dryly, and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, giving him a small squeeze of reassurance.

"Then we'll die together. Equally, hm?"

"You make this sound so easy, Kurama. It's kind of annoying." But Yusuke's mood was lightening. He'd crossed over that hump between distress and exhausting calm.

"Do you want to cry a bit more?"

Yusuke frowned and shook his head. "Nah. I'm… done." There was a brief, uncomfortable silence. Then, "Did Hiei come with you?"

Now he was the one asking questions.

"Yes, of course," Kurama said, almost matter-of-factly, glancing towards a far-off tree at the bottom of the hill.

"Did he tell you to talk to me about this?"

"… Yes. In a way." He couldn't tell the boy that Hiei had been in a dumbstruck stupor when he contacted Kurama about the boy's emotional trauma.

"Oh. You won't tell Kuwabara, will you?"

"No."

"Okay." Yusuke looked ashamed. "He'd never let me live it down. Crying, that is."

"Kuwabara cries more often than you do," Kurama noted, holding out a hand for the human boy. Yusuke looked at the pale offering, then clutched it and felt the strength in the fox's arm bring him to his feet.

"Does he?" Yusuke looked mildly interested. Kurama smiled.

"Yes. I was consoling him before I found you. Now all I need is for Hiei to lose himself and the day will be over." Both of the boys – human and demon – chuckled lightly, as if trying to break the silence of the night. The city was illuminated with light in the distance. "Shall we go back, Yusuke?"

"Yeah. Hey, uh, Kurama?"

"Yes?"

Yusuke toed at the grass and shrugged. "If you, erm, ever need a nuzzle or somethin', just give me a call." His smile was as addicting as ever, and Kurama found himself returning the gesture.

"I'll keep that in mind, Yusuke."


End file.
